


Desiderium

by MidnightValkyrie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Life Ruination, Recreational Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts, Unrequited Love, dramione - Freeform, suicidal ideations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 17:37:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21201509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightValkyrie/pseuds/MidnightValkyrie
Summary: Some coping mechanisms are more dangerous than others. It's easy to forget the riptide when the waters seems so safe.





	Desiderium

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: JKR owns everything, I own nothing. I'm merely playing in the sandbox.
> 
> This piece was inspired by [Ladies and Gentleman We Are Floating In Space](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-XmD4Zc7zLwurl) by Spiritualized.

desiderium (noun)

des·i·de·ri·um | \ desəˈdirēəm\

: an ardent desire or longing  
especially : a feeling of loss or grief for something lost

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As soon as Hermione apparated home, she drug herself to the bathroom and turned the hot water on as far as it would go. Ever since the end of the war, she never bothered with the cold tap. The edges of her soul was frosty enough from her activities during the war to last a millennia. Brushing the thought off, she moved to the kitchen, uncorking a bottle of wine to let it breathe while sorting through her mail.

Bill

Bill

Junk

Letter from Harry

She paused at that and mentally calculated how long it’d been since she’d seen him. The sour truth was that it had been months. The last letter she’d sent had been three weeks ago. The fact that her closest friends had purposefully drifted from her was a bitter thing to face. She’d known, in her heart of hearts, that what she’d done to help them tip the scales in their favor in the years following Voldemort’s fall had the high likelihood of producing this outcome. She’d done it anyway.

Despite the fall of Voldemort, there had still been many in his massive flock of Death Eaters that had escaped from the Battle at Hogwarts. Death Eaters who had not just rolled over and accepted defeat but who rallied together after they had fled and licked their wounds. Guerilla warfare had raged on for an additional five years after that.

She opened it, shoving down the other thoughts, and began to read. It was idle chat, talking about what he’d been up to, how Ginny and James were, etc. It was noticeable that there was no invitation to come over. It wasn’t surprising, he’d began to hold her at arm’s length sometime after the very final battle, when he had learned what she’d done. She couldn’t pretend that it didn’t hurt though, after everything.

The sound of water hitting the floor interrupted her, causing her to chuck the whole stack onto the counter, knocking over and breaking her favorite wine glass as she ran to the bathroom to shut off the tap and clean the mess up, cursing under her breath.

Thanks to the power of magic, however, she was sliding into the scalding hot water within minutes of shutting off the tap. She closed her eyes and leaned back, resting her head on the tub’s edge as she slunk down until the water was up to her chin. Today had sucked. She’d been spat on by no fewer than three would-be patients who’d turned out to be family of some of the Death Eaters she’d either killed or helped imprison, got frustrated with old schoolmates when they wouldn’t do anything outside of wizarding treatment for their ever worsening PTSD, and received news that two other schoolmates had finally succumbed to some of the custom Death Eater curses nobody had been able to figure out how to remedy.

She’d thought that healing at St. Mungo’s was a smart choice, the next step after she’d done healing in the war. She’d been able to shoot through most of her healing education after spending so much time learning under Madam Pomfrey and other Healers that had been in the Order. It had been the logical choice. She’d been suspicious however, that because of her role as a third of the golden trio and how quickly she’d gotten through training, she’d been resented by several of the other healers. That she’d used her clout somehow to buzz straight on through.

She had very few friends beyond the superficial level, Ron had been even less understanding than Harry but that ship had sunk once she’d been rendered barren thanks to a special dark curse. Her parents had refused to forgive her for removing their memories and tucking them away in Australia and work was becoming impossible. She had no one and largely nothing going for her currently. Luckily it was Friday night and she had the weekend off, she would be able to at least start plotting a new course, despite how depressing the idea of starting over yet again was. Secretly she’d craved something stronger than the alcohol she’d been indulging in more and more. Anything to dull if not mute the memories, the dreams, and the realization of all that she had sacrificed to get to the pitiful place she’d found herself.

When the water had become tepid, she pulled the plug and climbed out. She ran some hair potion through her hair before putting it up, turban style in a towel. She wrapped her body in a robe and wandered back to the kitchen, sighing at the broken glass and spilled wine. She repaired that before trying the activity again, this time retreating to her couch.

The red envelope stating that she was being evicted at the end of the month due to the building not passing inspection and would soon be condemned wasn’t a surprise, at least. She’d heard rumors from neighbors that this was likely to happen due to some sort of issue with the foundation that was worsening with time and too expensive to repair with the building still standing. It was still a hassle however, with everything else going on. Two more bills claimed her attention before coming to the end of the pile and discovering the thick cream envelope sealed with a sleek M stamped into silver wax.

She stared at it for a few minutes before opening it. She hadn’t seen Malfoy since the final battle against the Death Eaters. He’d turned to the side of the Light in their seventh year, refusing to torture his classmates or look the other way anymore. He’d trained under Snape and together the two kept the Order’s healers in supply of anything they needed when they weren’t running missions. On more than one occasion they’d been paired together, him watching her back while she did her job. They’d had more than one healer killed while they’d been working on someone and Kingsley put his foot down finally. They’d been friendly enough after an adjustment period, but one wouldn’t have called them close.

Finally, she pried the wax seal off and pulled out the missive.

It was an invitation for a private meeting at Malfoy Manor between the hours of midnight and one o’clock tonight. It gave directions on how to get to his office, what to wear to blend in as well as a pin size crow’s mask that came back to size after she removed it from the paper. The invitation itself was a pressure activated portkey, so she didn’t have to concern herself over figuring out how to get there should she accept.

Her brow furrowed in consternation. She’d heard the Manor in Wiltshire had essentially become an odd mix of an upscale club of sorts and a resort where one could experience a wide array of experimental drugs that hadn’t been outlawed by the Ministry. All of said drugs had been developed by one of the Apothecary businesses that Draco owned. Each had been through rigorous testing and was only available for sale to be experienced in a controlled location, just as his license required. Hermione had strongly considered visiting but several things had previously held her back, mainly the gossip mill.

Now, however, with her life crashing down all around her it seemed ever more appealing. She glanced at the clock to discover it was nearing eleven o’clock. She used her time wisely, taming her hair into sleek, gentle waves and applying a few beauty charms she’d learned from some of the classes Pansy Parkinson had started teaching. There hadn’t been hardly any job opportunities for her after suggesting they turn over Harry to Voldemort, so she’d put her Slytherin skills to use and set up a series of classes that was open to anyone from single fathers with daughters to muggleborns who wanted magical solutions to their grooming woes to purebloods who wanted to learn new things and brush up on their own tricks. They were quite popular and Pansy had recently promised her a charm that would completely straighten her hair. She’d believe it when she saw it, but Pansy wasn’t one to be underestimated. To her understanding Pansy occasionally went to the Manor for these little evening events. She shook away the thoughts of Pansy and how the girl seemed to want to talk to her more after their classes than what would strictly be normal for an instructor.

In the very back of her closet she found the perfect gown. It had been a gift from Ginny before she’d gotten pushed out of the group, when they were attending rebuilding fundraisers for Hogwarts. It was black, floor length, sleeveless, backless and absolutely sexy. It had a lightly plunging cowl neckline in the front that was just enough to hint at cleavage while still being tasteful. She paired it with a gray fur stole Viktor had sent her last Christmas from Bulgaria. Tall black heels would complete the outfit, she just hoped there wasn’t a thousand stairs to traverse. She charmed her beaded bag black and went back to where she’d left everything.

She put on her mask and picked up the invitation at 12:30, where she wouldn’t seem too eager upon arrival.

Opening her eyes, she found herself inside a coat room with a tall, thin, dark haired man awaiting her.

“I take it you’re here to see Draco,” Theo said, extending his arm to her.

“I am, how’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in ages,” she commented, slipping her hand through to rest on his forearm.

“Well enough, running a potions lab and a greenhouse most of the time,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking.

“Sounds like a quiet life,” she commented wistfully.

“Finally,” he muttered, causing her to grin.

She’d asked him once in a safehouse what he looked forward to the most after the end. A quiet, normal life, he’d answered much to her surprise.

He led her throughout the house to the very back, giving her the chance to glance into some of the different rooms. In some music came from gramophones with people sitting around sedately, relaxed. The ballroom gave more of a club vibe, she figured this was the hub where the people who took uppers gathered. Other rooms were dressed in different types of lighting in terms of brightness and color. She was most interested in the room that had different art supplies, the few people in there tonight dreamily sketching with charcoals or finger-painting on stretched canvases. They finally turned down a long, dark hallway and had they both not served together during the War she would have drawn her wand but Theo had saved her more than once and it had been enough to make her trust him.

He came to a door about halfway down and knocked.

“Come in,” a familiar voice drawled.

Theo opened the door for her and left the two of them alone.

She pulled the mask off as she approached his desk, revealing smoky eyes, winged eyeliner and red lipstick.

“Don’t you look delectable?” he all but purred, his eyes sliding to a mirror behind the door that gave him the lovely view of her back.

“I always did tell you that I could scrub up rather well,” she sniffed before sitting down.

“Indeed,” he said, his eyes roving appreciatively still.

She sat still for his perusal, taking the opportunity to do the same. He was bit bulkier now, no longer the thin young man who never ate enough, nor did he have bags underneath his eyes from too little sleep. He looked healthy and much happier. She’d seen him from a distance a few times and could tell that he hadn’t just put on a bit of weight to fill out. If she had to wager, she would bet on Quidditch and swimming. Of course, he was still ridiculously handsome, nothing save being mauled would ever change that. He sat confidently, in an expensive suit with a waistcoat but without the jacket, his shirtsleeves rolled up to just above his elbows. She eyed the strong forearms and hands with long thin fingers that were clasped together, thumbs steepled. The Malfoy signet ring glinted in the firelight from his pinky. Her eyes drifted up the unbuttoned collar until she met those silvery eyes of his.

She tossed the invitation on his desk.

“What’s that about?” she asked.

“How’s your job going at St. Mungo’s?” he asked breezily, as if she’d never said anything.

“Absolutely splendid. Who doesn’t want to be spat on at least three times a day for being a key party to putting away a parent or close family member? Or hated by their coworkers because they excelled through training at an unprecedented rate? Nevermind having five years of practical experience during the war where I’d worked under other healers,” She said dryly, affixing a bored look to her face that she’d learned from her Slytherin cohorts in the days of safehouses.

He apparently had inside information on that front, so there was no need playing coy.

His lips quirked faintly at her dry tone. He’d almost forgotten what she was like when she caustically sarcastic.

“Yes, who wouldn’t find that to be a fulfilling part of their day?” he drawled.

She cocked a brow, as if to ask if he had a point.

“I also hear that your flat is being condemned. Quite a run of luck you’re having,” he tipped his head to the side.

“Foundation issues,” she ground out. Now she was getting annoyed, he never could just get to the heart of things.

“You know, I noticed another strange thing. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you with Potter and Weasley, I thought you three were attached at the hip like a strange little tripod but I haven’t seen one single photograph with the three of you together in months. It’s almost like you’ve been replaced by the Weaslette,” he commented lightly, eyes sharply watching from behind that bored facade.

He'd always thought she looked especially lovely when furious and that had not changed. She flushed red in her anger, her dark eyes sparkling with malice as she scowled. Her red lips puckered briefly in displeasure before she opened her mouth again.

“Draco, get to the point of why you’ve been spying on me,” she said sharply.

“Malfoys do not spy, we merely take notice and listen when we’re spoken to,” he said, haughty as ever.

He carried on before she could snip back at him, “I invited you here tonight to offer you a job.”

The anger bled from her face to be replaced by confusion, “What sort of job?”

“I’ve grown tired of my former physician, so I fired him. He fled to France during the War,” he sneered at that, eyes cutting to the side.

“So you want me?” she asked.

“Of course, you ran a tight infirmary and were an excellent field medic. You made the best grades and made it through healer training at record speeds. I know your capabilities and you know my past history. You’re really the only person I trust for this,” he said with a sigh, watching her from beneath his lashes.

They sat observing one another in comfortable silence. She really had no reason to say no unless his terms were garbage and for some reason she doubted that they were.

“Detail your offer,” she said finally.

He unclasped his hands, sliding an envelope across to her.

She opened it, removing the papers and reading through everything.

It was quite generous. It would have taken her many years at St. Mungo’s to reach the same salary. It included a clear outline of expectations as well as benefits such as a suite at the manor, a clothing allowance, vacation time, participation in product creation and an offer of her use of their products any time she wasn’t on duty. What it did lack was a detail of the hours she was expected to work.

She looked up at him, “This is an amazing offer.”

“But,” he said, watching her peruse the sheets with his chin cupped in his hand.

“It doesn’t describe the hours,” she stated.

“It’s simple, your active hours are when I decide to partake of the goods. I usually do when I sit downstairs in the solarium and almost always on Saturdays. No more than four days a week. All you’ll do is go down, sit next to me and look pretty while I hold court and make sure nothing untoward happens to me. Aside from that if I start feeling bad or something happens I’ll call you to me and you’ll treat me. It’ll be a lot like the old days where we watched each other’s back and you put me back together when things went awry. I would be glad to do the same for you if you decide you want to unwind,” he explained.

“Do you usually pick your days in advance by chance?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes, it revolves around my other appointments for the week. I’ll be able to provide you a weekly schedule a couple of weeks in advance,” he offered.

“That’s very reasonable. When do you want me to start?” she asked as she slid everything back in except for the last page.

He grinned, “Any way I could convince you to start two days from now?”

She thought over how the last two weeks had gone and smirked, “I am amenable to this request. I accept, let’s sign.”

He handed over a pure white quill with an opalescent shaft. She’d only seen one of those before, back at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. It used a person’s magic to sign instead of ink. She signed with a flourish, spinning the parchment back around and sliding it to him. He signed with all the speed of a sloth, just to goad her a bit, she knew. The instant the quill lifted from the paper it vanished, likely to the filing cabinet that contained all the other employee records.

“Now what?” she asked after they stared at each other for a beat.

“Now you’re welcome to come try some of the fare. That is if you’re not interested in running off to pack your flat this very instant,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes and allowed Draco to give her a brief tour of her suite that was located across from his, oohing and aahing at it appropriately in appreciation. He’d then taken her across to the drawing room next to his own rooms where a tea spread was laid out. A vial of purple liquid sat next to a cream cup with gold embellishments and roses painted onto it. Hermione could only guess that it was her setting since she was supposed to be trying something out.

He encouraged she have a snack as he poured for both of them, “It’s sort of like alcohol in the way that if your stomach is empty it’ll hit you much harder.”

She eyed him as she took a half a sandwich and a scone, doctoring the latter with a bit of lemon curd and clotted cream.

“How did you know I had an empty stomach? Maybe I had a big dinner before coming over,” she hitched a brow at him.

He rolled his eyes as he took a sip of his tea, “You’re far too predictable to change that habit, Granger.”

“What habit?” she asked, confused.

“The habit of not eating when stressed. Merlin, you’d think we’d not lived together for two years and some change at Grimmauld. When you were stressed, which was often, someone had to make you eat, which was also often. On occasion that person was me, if you need more reminding. Seeing as you’ve had a rather stressful week, I can safely assume that you’ve eaten very little. Am I wrong?” he queried, lazily stirring his newly fixed tea.

She merely scowled at him as she took a bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly. He began to eat a small slice of chocolate cake, covertly watching her as she took in the room. The fire crackled and a log collapsed, causing her to slightly jump and whirl her head around at the fireplace. She took a calming breath before glancing back at him, her cheeks pinkening.

“You must think me silly to still jump at such a common noise,” she said lowly.

“Not at all. You’re in an unfamiliar place and with our backgrounds it’s to be expected really. It feels like we’ll be forever on our guards,” he commented.

He covertly watched her as she ate and drank most of her tea, stopping her before she finished so he could add the vial.

“What’s it going to do to me?” she asked, looking up at him as she swirled the contents of her cup.

“It will make you feel warm and relaxed, as if you were floating in a bath in the prefects pool-like tub. It also enhances any daydreams you might entertain. This small dose will last you for about an hour or so. You won’t really remember it when it’s done, it’ll just seem like a haze, as if you’d zoned out for an hour,” he explained.

She nodded and tipped it all back, gingerly setting the cup back in its saucer. Within minutes she was leaned back in her chair, eyes half-lidded and hands relaxed in her lap. Draco pulled a vial of Veritaserum from a pocket of his waistcoat and put one drop in her teacup. From his own cup he added one small swallow and swirled the mixture.

“Hermione, darling, you left a bit in your cup,” he said after putting everything back as it was.

Her eyes swiveled to his and then drifted down with her cup. Her hand lifted lazily to move for it when he stopped her.

“Here, let me help you,” he said, getting up and moving around the table.

He picked up her cup and helped her drain the last bit, setting it back down afterwards. He’d gotten a good look at her hands and wrists from his vantage point that he hadn’t been able to get earlier when she’d been paying too much attention. They were thin, dreadfully so and he could only imagine how many meals she’d been skipping now that there was nobody there to make her eat. As he sat back down in his chair he vowed that this time would be the only time he violated her privacy like this. Over the course of the next twenty minutes he asked her a variety of questions, the answers to many of them cut him to the bone. When he was finished he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and cursed her friends for having abandoned her.

When the hour was up and she was still zoned out, he realized he hadn’t accounted for her lack of weight. He gently led her across the hall and tucked her into bed after removing her jewelry and shoes. He summoned a book he’d been reading and settled into a chair in the corner, waiting to go to bed himself until she was truly asleep.

After that night, Hermione moved in and spent time with Blaise, Theo and Draco in the various locations they frequented at Malfoy Manor. Draco kept tabs through his house elf Peony that she was eating, and if not, it was reported to whomever was at the house currently. That man would whisk her off to lunch or convince her to go to the labs or a stroll in the gardens and when they came back insist on having a late lunch together in the kitchens or on the terrace. Eventually she started to resemble a healthy weight again, the color had returned to her cheeks, and she took full advantage of the home library as well as the swimming pool when it wasn’t in use.

As spring turned to summer turned to fall, Draco worryingly noticed a gradual increase in her usage of many of their products, but most frequently the Somnium Diem potion. Her walks around the grounds and visits to the lab gradually lessened. Days and hours spent lounging in her favorite parts of the house in a daze slowly increased. She did her job to the letter without worry, always keeping a sobriety potion on hand in case she was needed in an emergency and looking after not only Draco but the other two as well. He noticed if she wasn’t with one of them she almost never went somewhere public, preferring to do her shopping from catalogues. His hypothesis was that she was afraid she’d run into one of the gits. He confirmed that hypothesis at the end of October.

~*~*~October 28th~*~*~

Draco was seated on his throne in the solarium. For once it was free of guests, Theo having come up with some sort of activity that was interesting to most of the house’s current occupants. He sat with his chin cupped in his hand as he stroked her hair. He’d been watching her absently ever since she’d curled up on the large round, poofy footstool and lay her head in his lap. He wanted to adjust his crossed legs that were propped on the stool next to her but was loathe to disturb her.

Normally she’d be in the chair next to him, sharing the overly large throne as he sat, drugged out of his mind part of the time on some sort of product of his and watching over him but today was different. Today he’d found her in her sitting room having a panic attack when she didn’t meet him for their usual afternoon tea before they went downstairs. He’d had to use Legilimency on her to get at the heart of the problem. Apparently, she’d crossed paths with Harry and Ron earlier that day in Diagon Alley and they’d had a very explosive public fight. One he was sure Rita Skeeter was having a field day over at that moment. Word had obviously gotten back that she was working for him and had been seen indulging with some of the other house guests at times. It had been a very ugly situation and she’d stumbled back here as soon as she’d been able to break through the crowd. The two wankers had thankfully been unable to keep up with her as she’d fled the scene.

It'd taken him an hour to get her back calm and to take some of the Somnium Diem Potion she favored. He could understand why she’d always been attached to it. It was the same potion she’d first tried, that made you feel warm and relaxed. It enhanced pleasant thoughts and sent you into an amazing daydream unless something in your environment upset that. He’d dosed her with enough to get her through to the time she normally went to sleep.

The feel of her recoiling from the double doors and twisting against his legs had him glaring at whatever was upsetting her before he even registered that the two tossers who’d caused her current state were standing in the doorway, drinking in the scene.

“What have you done to her?” Harry ground out, starting across the room as soon as he snapped out of his stupor.

Draco whispered a spell, rendering her temporarily deaf. The tension bled out of her and he resumed stroking her hair.

“I think you’re confused Potter. Usually she’s looking after _me_ but when I found her having a mental breakdown in her rooms I had to do something that would calm her system down before the result of your actions today snapped her mind. So really, this is what _you’ve_ done to her,” Draco pointed out.

“She wouldn’t have to be here if you’d just left her alone,” Harry seethed.

Draco wasn’t really surprised. Harry and Ron had always blamed him for ‘rubbing off’ on Hermione during the war. They’d convinced themselves that she wouldn’t have done some of the darker things she’d been involved in if it wasn’t for him. They refused to believe that it was the war itself that had driven her to those actions.

Harry got within ten feet of them and Draco could clearly see that he intended to take her bodily from him. That would happen over his dead body. He gently maneuvered her to rest her head and arms on the chair where he’d eased out from under her. Harry’s hand had been inches from her shoulder when Draco began pushing him back across the room with a repelling charm, wand level with his chest.

“You’ve been told by all manner of people, Potter, that I had nothing to do with anything she did, except to sometimes hide her in order to shield her from the two of you and your self-righteousness,” he said, eyes glinting.

Draco’s mind hurtled back to the final crescendo of the war as he tucked his wand back in his sleeve.

_It had been the final battle, every Death Eater still alive was there. They had the numbers by far and were confident that they would walk away successful, despite the ever-increasing amount of Aurors and Order members apparating in by the minute. Draco and Hermione fought together to reach the center of the battlefield. The field was alit in a variety of flying spells, green not being an uncommon color. Once there she cast a bubble head charm on her partner. They each got out some glass spheres full of a glimmery rust red colored powder from her satchel. They slammed their supply to the ground, the powder rapidly turning into a fog that blanketed the area a half mile radius from their point in seconds. One amplification spell later and she was screaming ‘Morsmordre’, sending Voldemort’s symbol high into the sky. The fog instantly cleared at the sound of the spell and all those who’d breathed in the powder and saw the symbol fell to their knees, clutching their arms and screaming as if it had been set on fire. It had incapacitated all but a couple of the crowd, allowing Aurors and Order members to bind and portkey their prisoners directly into cells at the ministry. The effect of the spell wore off as soon as the person was out from under Voldemort’s symbol. What once they had reigned terror with was now the thing that had felled them._

_It had been a plan months in development between Snape, Hermione, McGonagall, Draco and Kingsley. Kingsley and Minerva had asked her repeatedly if she was sure that she wanted to make the sacrifice, endure the stain it would leave._

_“Nothing is gained without sacrifice,” she’d said._

_“I think you’ve sacrificed well enough, Miss Granger,” Minerva said, trying again._

_“Yes, but I cannot endure more of this. I am the unequivocal enemy. Number one on the Death Eater’s kill list, the most hated. I’m what kept Harry alive and out of Voldemort’s grasp, what’s helped keep us one step ahead. My dirty, muddy blood is required for this to succeed. I’m willing if it means the end,” she declared before heading back into the potions lab where her two cohorts were waiting._

_Gryffindor through and through, Minerva had thought. Her chest filled with pride and sorrow in equal amounts._

_They later revealed, many months later just how much of a dark bit of magic it was. That had been the catalyst for the worst fight she, Harry and Ron had ever had. She would not yield her position and it had not meshed well with their self-righteousness. It had spelled the beginning of the end. She had only been glad that the worst of what she’d done, the killing curses and the interrogation methods hadn’t been mentioned, merely quietly pardoned._

“She needs to come home with us, her friends, where she can get better. Where she can get back to her normal self again,” Harry said, moving to go around Draco. He mirrored the movements until Harry quit and resumed fuming.

Draco’s mercurial eyes glinted dangerously as he glared at his longtime nemesis, his fists clenching at his sides in order to keep from drawing using wand in a more vicious manner. To calm the fury thundering through him he closed his eyes for a few seconds and imagined crucioing the both of them. He felt marginally better when he reopened them and pinned Potter in place with his glare.

“By the way, where exactly have you been the last year while she’s been slowly ground to dust from the inside out? Not with her, that’s for damn sure. Otherwise you’d known she wasn’t eating for days, that she hated her job, was losing her home,” he asked, eyes narrowed.

“We’ve been busy! We drifted apart but we still wrote one another,” Harry grumbled feebly, guilt crashing over him. He’d found out about her job and her flat after she’d relocated to Malfoy Manor, he didn’t know about the other.

“You should have been there for her! Instead you and your typical Gryffindor moral haughtiness has lodged your heads right up your arses. And in that time she’s been spiraling out of control as more and more of her life fell apart,” he seethed.

“Oh, and wasn’t that just perfect timing for you to swoop in and save her? What? Just so you could bring her here and turn her into an addict? A veritable slave since you’re the source holder?” Harry accused.

“What would you prefer _Potter_, her being an addict and alive or her being dead? Because she’d planned out fifty surefire ways to off herself if things didn’t start improving in her life within that last week at St. Mungos. Not that either of you or any of your old mates were helping on that front,” he sneered at them. “I have a potions course I could give her, if she ever wanted her sobriety back. It would take a few months, but she could kick it. Currently that’s _not_ what she wants and it may never _be_ what she wants. After everything she sacrificed, her childhood, her parents, everything, she should have some sort of respite until she decides otherwise. So, if you think I’m going to let you take her from me you’re absolutely barking _mad_!” Draco was trembling in his rage and he hissed at them.

The thought of Hermione wanting to end her life without him even having a clue about it turned his stomach and he thought he may be sick. Something clicked behind Harry’s eyes as he took in more than just what Draco was saying.

“You love her,” he said faintly.

“I do. She doesn’t love me back, may never love me back but I could give a damn. At least she’s here where _I_ can _look after her,” _Draco’s pause reiterated that it’s what they, her supposed friends, should have been doing, “make sure she’s eating and not slowly starving herself like she has been for months. Ensuring that at the very least, she isn’t entertaining suicidal ideations daily anymore. If she went with you, I dare say she’d be dead within the week.”

“If she hadn’t did that dark magic she wouldn’t be in this position to begin with,” Ron finally spoke up from where he stood, staring at Hermione as she sat, now curled up on their throne in the lovely olive colored dress Peony had helped her into.

“We were barely holding ground against a group of fanatics that had adopted guerilla warfare, Weasley, or do you not remember? She couldn’t take losing any more people, nearly losing either of you countless times, _surviving another day more_ than what she had to of that war. _She_ had the strength to do what was necessary to win and was willing to pay the cost to save the remainder of who she could. She’s certainly _more_ of a Gryffindor with _more_ bravery than the both of you combined. Now, until you want to earnestly try to mend what the both of you have absolutely _ruined_, remove yourself from my premises and don’t fucking come back until such time,” he snarled, gesturing towards the way out.

He returned to his throne, gathered her in his arms and placed her on his lap when he sat back down. She curled against him, tucking her head underneath his chin as he stroked her back absently, continuing to glare at the two until Theo arrived to escort them back out.

He couldn’t believe Potter had come to the conclusion he had. He’d have bet all of his galleons that the man would be eternally too thick to realize the obvious. During the last years of the war he’d developed a surprising amount of respect and admiration for the woman, which had shifted into a quiet, secret love by the end. When they were forming the business Theo and Blaise had found out of course, but had kept silent on his behalf, only updating him when they saw her or when they heard rumors about her.

He sighed and resumed watching her. He wanted desperately for her to get back to a point where sobriety wasn’t worse than death. He knew that more than the one dark spell had stained her. The killing curses she’d flung back in battles and the Crucios she’d used during interrogation had done something to her soul and after everything was said and done, it had begun to erode her, dragging her ever further down into that dark place inside of her. Forgiveness and remorse would reverse the stain, but she wouldn’t be able to do that until she got sober and he acknowledged that it was highly unlikely she’d get to that point any time soon, if ever. It didn’t matter, he’d wait a lifetime for her if he had to.

He buried his face against her hair and closed his eyes.


End file.
